in dreams
by runningxoutxofxtime
Summary: ( may be a oneshot? probably won't complete this unless someone makes me. ) two years ago, malik forgave altair for their past incidents and the death of malik's brother, kadar. even after those two years, altair still carries the burden of guilt for all he has done wrong, and he refuses to believe otherwise.


a/n: uhm, hello all. this is my first fanfic and the first time i have attempted an ac fic. ( excuse any mistakes... i type ridiculously fact and don't notice errors half the time. :u ) please read and review? also, i accept harsh criticism. it helps me improve my writing.

i don't know what to say, really. this is not going to be anything near as amazing as the works of words without, mirror and image, xazz, moondusted, shadow chaser, etcetc... ( more than likely i will ditch this if any amazing writer ever reads this. yes, i have no confidence in myself. ) enjoy—if you can.

this is also not altmal. i am horrid at smut, otherwise this would be.

assassin's creed, altair, malik (C) ubisoft.

* * *

_arrogant... you cocky, arrogant bastard! you dare speak of my brother like that!_

his jaw tightened, the faint grit of his teeth as they ground together almost painful. beneath closed eyelids, his eyes shifted as there was a faint stir, the slightest change of breath, the flicker of drawn pain that was concealed well beneath a mask worn for years. within the fitful sleeps that were few and far between, there was the same vulnerability there—the things that no one saw, for a shadowed coil hid it all away. even now, the very same coil was raised, askew from the movements of restless shifting as his head turned from side to side. it was too much to ask for—peace would never be with him nor find him, for he was haunted by the ghosts that returned in sleep to remind him of the wrongs done again.

_you—you, who thought yourself above our creed, is to fault! you took everything from me: my life, my arm, and most of all my brother... you tore my brother from me, and i can never feed your augmented hubris. i am not torn down and broken into some feeble man, and yet i am treated as a cripple... because of you, altair, you!_

the thin blanket was wound around him in a vise, his turning and thrashing tangling his limbs amongst the coverings. the stark white robes were stifling, seeming to burn him as they were clinging to his sweating skin. the muscles in his jaws jerked as he rolled over, unaware that the frigid stone of the bureau's floor was beneath him now rather than the plush pillows that were scattered in various places around the sleeping area. beads of icy sweat glistened upon his drawn face as the bare light seeped in through the roof windows, the creeping morning light falling upon the assassin's stark and pale form, sprawled hazardously on the bureau floor. the tips of each of his nine fingers tingled, the scarred hands twitching as he subconsciously tried to reach out in his sleep.

_**malik, please... i never meant it... i never knew your brother would be slaughtered and cut down by the templars! listen to me, malik, please!...**_

but the tanned male opposite of him was gazing back with burning chocolate brown eyes. he was speechless under his friend's gaze, pinned down and stripped to the bone by the penetrating stare. the sharp face that malik possessed was so full of spiteful and open hatred that it would be hard to think that they ever could have shared smiles or laughed over the crude games that they had played when they had been simple childhood friends. he knew what was coming—he always remembered it, always, and it lingered even in waking hours.

_**i hate you,**__ malik whispered, deep brown eyes flashing; then the man was reaching forward, blindingly swift as he seized the front of the master assassin's robes, the venomous look in his friend's eyes souring into blind rage. __**it should have been you—!**_

his eyelids flew wide as his body shuddered before his hands began to tremble, the roaring blood in his ears racing with the pounding drumbeat of his heart. a wave of sickness shook the assassin as he jolted up, still reeling from the absolute terror rushing through his veins. his unusual golden eyes were stretched wide in his pallid face, the dark pupils already dilating to overbalance the gold. his hands were shaking terribly as he reached out for things that weren't there, hoping his fingertips would brush the black robes with intricate white markings. his hands closed over open air, and in an instant, altair found himself surrounded by faint golden light as dawn broke over the ancient city of jerusalem, the first rays of sunlight dripped through the bureau's latched window. his vision tilted and swayed for a moment as he drew in the familiar deep breaths, already willing his heart to cease its pounding beat.

with still trembling hands, the assassin ran a single shaking hand over his forehead, able to feel that his skin was flushed and icy from the sweat that formed during each nightmare. a faint grimace passed over his features as he permitted his hand to drop once more, his knees pulling up loosely to his chest. the assassin sat in the quiet of the bureau, the only sounds were those that belonged to him: the quiet panting, the slight tap as he aimlessly ran a hand over the same cold stone he had woke upon, the sounds of soft steps as early-risers moved towards the marketplace for another long day of working for the people.

the softest of groans slipped from his lips when he finally grew still, the tapping of his hand dying instantly. each time, he swore that each nightmare was sure to be worse than the last. it was true that he and malik had reformed their friendship, but altair still remembered how he had rushed carelessly through masyaf after defeating the templars from their resident place, believing that he could have gone to his friend and they would have become masters together even though malik had lost an arm. their formal rivalry of poisoned words and hatred, clashing wills and defiant minds, had been reconciled. but if this was so, then why did their bitter words and spite linger at the edges of his mind?

altair's panting breath faltered as he simply dropped his head, chin brushing his chest. _why_, he wondered, _had malik forgiven him?_ the dai had claimed that he had changed from the arrogant ass he had formerly been, but surely...

the sound of soft leather boots scuffling on the stone floor, accompanied by the light tapping on the doorway frame, caught his attention. his golden eyes flicked up to see the said dai standing there, the long black robes stirring and creating a seemingly shifting illusion to the stark white symbols decorating the robes with intricate design. he eyed malik for a few moments before shifting where he sat, abruptly aware of the colourful plush pillows scattered hazardously around the room. unable to look the dai in the eyes, his own gaze shifted away in an attempt to avoid looking at the other. "it's nothing, malik," he began, already knowing that the one-armed dai was taking note of the mess throughout the room. "i swear to you—"

there was a single, sharp tap. in an instant, the feeble lie fell from his lips. belatedly, altair realized that his cowl had fallen from his head as his long, thin fingers brushed through his unnaturally light brown hair. he cared little for how he must have appeared, but it was a heavy weight pressing onto his shoulders, knowing that his cowl wasn't hiding his face as it always was. before he could yank up the cowl that he felt strangely naked without, the dai's words stopped him.

"do not lie to me... the nightmares have come back, haven't they? be truthful, altair... your surroundings belie you..."

altair cringed at the words. it was only a heartbeat before the white hood had been drawn over his head once more, casting his face in shadow. there was a few long moments of silence before he downcasted his eyes, struggling to ignore the flickers at the edges of his vision, his mind engendering the searing sight of kadar, limbs akimbo as the scuff of approaching steps advanced towards him.

malik had known when he had risen from his bed that morning; he had sensed it just as he always did. he had drawn on his robes, his eyes skirting over the scarred stump as he felt a familiar ache within him. it had nearly been two years—two years since he had watched his brother die before him, since he had lost his arm. the pain was just as real as it had been those years ago, but it had changed; he had forgiven altair, for the assassin had changed and redeemed himself in malik's eyes. he remembered how altair had begged for atonement those two years ago, and he had at last been granted that wish.

however, the dai moved across the vibrant carpeted floor of the main part of the bureau, his stomach began to knot. although he had not yet reached the room with the fountain, the hunch that something was amiss continued to pester him. soundlessly, he paused in the shadows of the doorway, deep brown eyes able to make out the room adjoining the one he stood in. in the paling sky, there was light enough to see altair lying upon the floor, plainly asleep. at first, he almost shook off the assumption when he saw that the thick pillows were scattered across the room. as though his thoughts were sensed, one of altair's hands curled into a hand of talons, fisting in one of the nearby pillows. a terrible sadness filled malik as he was helpless to do anything, only made to watch, as his friend suffered.

on instinct, he tensed as the other assassin was torn from his restless sleep, jolted into a sitting position. the cowl that was constantly shadowing his face from others had fallen to loosely hang on his shoulders. altair's unusually pale skin, white with only the faintest of tints, was sharp against the dark reds and warm oranges surrounding him. the dai watched in silence as those golden eyes darted around, flickering with a wild terror that was so un-altair that it was startling, even now. a soft sigh slipped from his lips as he moved forward a few steps, moving into viewing distance. knowing that it was unwise to get close, he tapping his knuckles lightly to the doorframe to catch the other's attention. deep brown eyes met golden ones, and malik caught the surprise before it was gone.

"it's nothing malik, i swear to you—" altair began, clearly trying to shrug it off. the dai was relentless; his eyes had already seen, and the thrown pillows and disheveled altair before him belied whatever protests the other assassin was trying to feed him. before he could stop himself, the dai was sharply tapping his knuckles on the doorway once more, not failing to see the wince. altair was looking away, and malik let out a sigh. "do not lie to me... the nightmares have come back, haven't they? be truthful, altair... your surroundings belie you..."

the other simply looked away, and the dai felt his heart twist. he moved forward, closing the distance between them as his robes shifted gently around him. he crossed the distance to altair and knelt in front of the other, carefully crouching as to not overbalance himself with only one arm to keep himself steady. he patiently waited, the wordless wish for altair to look at him lingering in the air. the man in front of him continued to stare at his knees, not looking at his friend or anything else for that matter—those golden eyes were distant as altair was leagues away. knowing what was happening as the black pupils began to dilate, he risked his balance as he reached out, forcing the assassin to look him dead-set in the eyes. "don't go there... look at me, altair..."

the assassin could see the flickers of light dancing at the edges of his vision, illusions that his own mind conjured. he ground his teeth together in a wordless snarl that warped his scarred face; the pale whites and blues were forming around him.

_the fog,_ he thought, dimly remembering how he came into the fog each time he assassinated a target. reality was spinning away from him at a dizzying speed, and he found himself enveloped in the memories.

he was swiftly clambering down the latter, the rotting rungs creaking under his feet. his eyes swiveled around as he looked at the templars, when truly he saw only one—robert dé sable, his bald head gleaming with sweat and perspiration. lips curling back into a sneer, he came forward, bringing abrupt halt to the meeting.

he was helpless as he watched himself claim the want for blood before lifting his arm, a flash of silver showing that his hidden blade was un sheathing. despite his cries at his former self to stop, the past could not be changed; he was lifted and thrown through the scaffolding and rotting wall, the supporting beams snapping by the momentum and force of his body bowling through them. he landed hard, effectively winded and blinded by pain—struggling to his feet, he turned to see that boulders were falling, cutting him off from malik and kadar...

"don't go there... look at me, altair..."

there was terrible screaming and cries of the two assassins and templars alike—he clawed at the rock, desperately trying to shift the debris —

_"altair!"_

there was a sudden keening sound, shrill and screeching with excruciating agony—

_**"ALTAIR!"**_

the sudden burn upon his face brought him roughly from the fog; his dilating pupils shrank rapidly as his distanced eyes focused once more on the almost too-bright room. there was a face inches from his, furrowed with worry and concern. altair's breath came in tight hisses, the air struggling to be drawn into his lungs. his muscles reacted before his mind could, and he was pushing malik back, twisting his body away as he choked, sucking in mouthfuls of air. his skin was icy with sweat and his heart was a thunderous pounding in his ribcage. he heard a small curse slip from malik's mouth before he glanced over. the black robed dai was sitting on his rump, face marred by slight pain as he clutched at the stump. in an instant, he knew what he had done.

he had shoved malik too hard, and the dai had plainly tried to reach out with his stump to catch himself, forgetful of the agony still living in the aged injury. the sight of the dai soundlessly swearing as he clutched at the stump beneath the folded sleeve, the pain scrawled upon his face was too much. he must have made some kind of sound, for the man that was his only friend looked up, the pain turned into panic. "altair!" he called, releasing the stump to reach out for the assassin.

the words were heard not by the other's ears; in a instant, altair had fled, the only remaining sign left to show he had gone being the slight movement in the roof entrance, and then nothing.

* * *

a/n: i am so sorry this sucks. a friend of mine wanted me to post it.

#goes to hide forever

i may live to regret this.


End file.
